


Federal Temptations

by Mrs_SimonTam_PHD



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Apologies, Being beat with a belt, Bondage, Cock Slut!Dean, Cocky!Dean, Criminal!Dean, Cuffs, Degradation, Degrading Talk, Dom!Sam, FBI Agent!Sam, Hardass!Sam, I am a horrible person:, Incest, John Winchester’s A+ parenting, M/M, Minimal Prep, Minor character death that doesn’t even happen onscreen, NSFW, Past Kidnapping, Sibling Incest, Spanking, Sub!Dean, Team Dean’s Red Ass, Top!Sam, Unknowingly committing incest, bottom!Dean, improper interrogation techniques, not exactly the best BDSM practices here, slight dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 13:03:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11898300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_SimonTam_PHD/pseuds/Mrs_SimonTam_PHD
Summary: Dean Winchester is a career criminal who is caught by the FBI. The FBI calls in their best interrogator, Sam Wesson, to crack Dean, and Dean learns something about Sam.





	Federal Temptations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WhisperingMagpie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhisperingMagpie/gifts).



> This is for the lovely @samslashdeantogether, who wanted this after seeing the Wincest aesthetic I had made for @justanothersaltandburn a while back, and decided that they must have the fic for it. Enjoy, lovely!!
> 
> The link to the aesthetic on my tumblr is: http://lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell.tumblr.com/post/151226692325/a-lovely-nsfw-wincest-aesthetic-for

_ “Dean Winchester, you’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent.” _

 

Sam Wesson read over Dean Winchester’s file for the fifth time that morning. The Bureau wanted him to question the fugitive who had sparked a nationwide manhunt going after this guy, and they said ‘any means necessary’. 

Sam was a specialist within the FBI. What that meant is that Sam had absolute, complete free reign to do whatever he needed to do to get this guy to confess. 

Winchester had a  _ long  _ laundry list. Credit card scams, fake FBI ID’s- one was in his hands currently, and it was almost perfect. It would fool anyone but another conman, or a man like Sam who has an eye for detail- robbery, and, surprisingly prostitution. Whoever Dean Winchester was, he was bad news.  

Sighing, Sam threw down the fake ID and ran his hand over his face as one of the other agents, Brady, came in. 

“Sam? They’ve got Winchester in interrogation room four,” he said. “And go easy on him.” 

Sam gave a smirk, standing up and nodding at Brady. “Thanks, Brady. I’ll be down for a while.” 

“Good luck,” Brady said. “He’s a tough nut to crack.” 

“That’s why they pay me the big bucks, Brady,” Sam smirked. “To crack open the tough nuts and eat them.” 

Brady nodded and watched Sam head down with a briefcase and cup of coffee. “May God have mercy on Dean Winchester,” he muttered before going to do the growing mound of paperwork on his desk. 

 

Sam knocked on the door and slid in. “Mr. Winchester? I’m Special Agent Sam Wesson, FBI.” He flashed his badge, watching the smirk light up on Dean’s face. “The  _ real  _ FBI.” 

“Oooohhh, real badge. My hero,” Dean said sarcastically. 

Sam chuckled and sat down across from Dean, looking down. 

“Dean?” he said. “Why would there be a paperclip sticking out of your handcuffs?” 

“Oh, it’s from Matlock,” Dean said with a cocky smile. “Nicked it.” 

“So, we can add an account of attempted escape,” Sam said, plucking the paperclip out of the actually undone cuff and slamming it shut tight against Dean’s wrist. The fugitive hissed. 

“My bad,” Sam said blandly. 

“Oh, come on, Mulder, don’t be like that,” Dean said in a charming voice. 

“Mr. Winchester, do you know why you’re here, alone, with me?” Sam asked. 

“Because they asked the bitchiest guy here to interrogate me?” Dean asked slowly. 

“Cute, but no,” Sam said, leaning over the steel desk with a dark sort of grin. “My specialty is interrogation. And not just the kind that the Bureau is used to doing. I’m who they call when they got a tough guy like you in this building- or, rather, anywhere in the US. Ever heard of Picasso with a Razor?” 

“Yeah, uh, Alastair Picasso, plastic surgeon who killed, what, fifteen women with Botox and kept the FBI running around in circles? He confessed a year ago, didn’t he?” Dean said. 

“So you do read.” Sam smirked. “Well, I’m the one who made Alastair squeal like a stuck pig. And here’s the thing. I’m allowed to do whatever. I. Want.” Sam’s eyes darkened, and Dean looked around. “Notice there’s not cameras. There is a vocal recording, but it’s not court admissible. But you will confess, Dean. On your own, free volition.” 

Dean clenched his jaw. “Go to Hell,” he snarled. 

“Well, if you ask me, I’ve already been, and it didn’t agree with me,” Sam said with a smile. “You know what fugitives like you need, Dean?” 

“A knife to stab annoying FBI agents with?” Dean said. 

“Let’s add threatening a federal law enforcement agent to that laundry list of charges of yours, shall we?” Sam asked. 

Dean fell silent. 

“Discipline.” 

“What?” Dean asked. 

“Discipline,” Sam said, leaning over the table. “Fugitives lack discipline, especially self discipline. You- and most every other criminal I’ve cracked- are all about instant gratification. You want what you want  _ now. _ ” 

Dean stared at Sam, wetting his lips.  _ What? _

“Do you think out your moves, or do you attack first, Dean? With your robberies, that is. You’ve held up fourteen international banks this year,” Sam asked. 

“I try to get a layout of the security system, but I usually go for the hold up. Easier, less messy,” Dean shrugged. 

“And you get what you want quicker, right?” Sam asked. 

“I suppose, yeah. I mean, a major heist usually should take about two weeks, and I take maybe two hours,” Dean said. 

“That’s my point, Dean,” Sam said. “You don’t take your time. You want something, and you want it now, consequences be damned.”

“So what, you’re going to send me to bootcamp?” Dean snorted. 

“No, from what I read of your file, Daddy dearest did enough of that,” Sam said. “I’m going to undo your cuffs from the table. Take a swing at me, and I’ll take you down. Once they’re undone, you’re going to kneel for me, hands on your head.” 

“What?” Dean asked, looking up at Sam in surprise. “Dude-” 

“Don’t. Question. Me.” Sam’s face was as hard as flint. “You will kneel, with your hands on your head, or I will _ make _ you kneel. And you won’t like that. You will do as I say, when I say it.” 

Dean stared at Sam defiantly. 

“Choose, Dean. The easy way, or the hard way?” Sam asked. “Because you won’t like the hard way, I’ll guarantee that.” 

“Is this how you pick up chicks at the bar?” Dean asked. “‘Cause, dude, you gotta step up your game.” 

“I’m not straight,” Sam gave a smirk. 

“Neither am I, genius,” Dean said. “So, guys, then.” 

“I knew you weren’t straight, smartass,” Sam said. “Make your choice.” 

Dean decided that he wasn’t going to go down easy. “Make me.” 

“You asked for it.” 

Dean didn’t know how someone so tall and so. . .  _ lean  _ looking moved so fucking fast. 

The next thing he knew, he was pinned to the table, unable to move an inch except to struggle, but Sam was stronger. Being pinned to the table wasn’t doing much for his libido- actually, his libido had been in overdrive since Sam walked in with cold, suave confidence. 

So yeah, while he may not  _ like  _ this predicament, he didn’t totally  _ hate  _ it. “Easy with the goods here, Mulder,” he joked, smiling a little.  _ Hardass.  _

“Still wanting to do this the hard way?” Sam murmured in his ear, his voice hot and heavy. 

Dean was slowly putting the pieces together. Sam was going to make him be a subby little bitch to get him to talk. Best approach? Possibly not, but hey, if that’s the way Sam wanted to do this. Besides, it’s been awhile since he’s had sex- for pleasure or for profit. “Does the hard way involve me being fucked over this desk?” he asked calmly, as if he’s done this numerous times. 

Well, he  _ has  _ bent over steel tables in interrogation rooms before. It’s how he managed to slip town after town. Cops and feds usually get a discount as long as they promised to help him escape the town he was in. Dean knew that Sam probably wasn’t going to let him go, the handcuffs proved that. But hey, getting fucked literally by the feds would help with the fact that he was going to get fucked figuratively. 

“The way you choose depends on if you want to cum or not,” Sam said calmly. 

“Aww, come on, man! You don’t deprive a man of his right to cum!” Dean whined, scraping his feet along the floor in an attempt to rut against the table. 

“I can, and I will,” Sam said. “Either way, this is how it’s gonna go.” He kept Dean’s hips firmly pressed against the table so he couldn’t move. “I’m going to fuck you, fill you up. I am also going to spank you. Easy way, it’s with my hand. Hard way, it’s with my belt. And, of course, you’re going to have to sit on it.” 

Dean hummed in thought. “I can always switch to the easy way afterwards, right?”

Sam raised a brow. “You really want my belt down on your ass?” he asked. 

“I like a little pain,” Dean shrugged. “I’ve been spanked with a belt before, I know how it feels.” 

Sam huffed. “Not by me, you haven’t.” 

“Well,” Dean smirked, “I suggest you get to teaching me that lesson. . . Agent.” 

Sam smirked and slowly peeled himself off of Dean’s back. Admiring the curve of Dean’s ass, he unbuckled his belt. “You’re learning,” he commented. 

“I’m not exactly stupid,” Dean snorted. 

“Oh, I know. You’re just impatient,” Sam said. “Undisciplined.” 

“You make it sound like I grew up without parents,” Dean snorted. 

“In a way, you did,” Sam said. “Mother died when you were four, father raised you like you were in the Marines.” 

“That in my file?” Dean asked. 

Sam nodded. “Yes.” He slid his belt off of his slacks, feeling them go lax against his hips. Folding the belt in half, he gave it a firm yank, the sound echoing in the concrete room. 

Dean jumped, not expecting the sound. That sounded like it would  _ hurt.  _ He was looking forward to that. 

“Let’s see if you still want the belt,” Sam said, cracking it down on Dean’s denim clad ass. 

Dean howled, wrapping his fingers through the short chains attached to his cuffs.  _ Fuck.  _ That was through a layer of denim and a layer of satin panties, and he  _ still  _ could feel that a welt was going to rise up. “FUCK!” 

Sam chuckled, low and deep in his throat. “Weren’t expecting that, were you?” he asked softly. 

“No, dammit!” Dean panted. Now that the initial pain had passed, it was feeling  _ good.  _ This FBI agent knew what the fuck he was doing. 

Sam chuckled, resting a firm hand on Dean’s back. “Do you still want the belt?” he asked. 

“Yes,” Dean said, trying not to show his eagerness. His body did anyways, his hips tilting upwards into Sam’s personal space. 

Sam laughed quietly, shaking his head. “Eager little slut, aren’t you?” he asked as he reached around to undo Dean’s belt. 

“I’m not that eager,” Dean scoffed. 

“I suppose I should add ten more to this list you’re getting,” Sam smirked. 

“What?? For what?” Dean asked, jerking his head around to observe the dick of an FBI agent. 

“For lying,” Sam said. Dean’s belt unbuckled, he thumbed open the button and pulled down the zipper of Dean’s jeans before starting to slide them off his hips. 

Dean canted his hips up to give Sam more room to slide his jeans off, groaning as his cock was mostly freed from cloth prisons. He looked down to see the tip of it peeking out from his candy apple green panties. 

“Pretty panties, Dean,” Sam smirked, running his hand over Dean’s satin clad ass. “Matches your eyes.” 

Dean gave a smirk. “Thanks. Don’t ruin them,” he said. 

“Oh, don’t worry,” Sam said, sliding Dean’s panties off his ass, smirking at the pink mark still left behind from his belt, “I won’t.” 

Once Dean’s bare ass was in view, Sam grabbed each rounded cheek and gave a firm squeeze, smiling to himself as Dean gave a low moan and thrusted his hips back and up into Sam’s hands. 

“You’re a thirsty little whore, aren’t you?” Sam murmured. “Just thirsty for somebody’s fat cock to slide into your greedy hole.” 

Dean flushed. He’s never heard it described  _ quite  _ like that before. And, he had to admit, he kind of liked hearing it.

“Pain before pleasure, slut,” Sam said, removing his hands and picking up his belt again. “I’m going to go until one of three things happen. My arm gets tired, you start crying, or you call red. Understood?” 

“Yes, Sir!” Dean said, wiggling his rear in the air. 

“You’re such a needy-”

THWACK

“Dirty-” 

THWACK 

“Little-” 

CRACK

“ _ Whore. _ ”

With each word, Sam brought the belt down on Dean’s upturned ass, and Dean cried out each time, yanking on the chain of his handcuffs as pain and pleasure raced through his body. His cock was nearly hanging out of his panties as Sam kept hitting his ass with the belt, laying neat rows of long stripes every which way, even extending to the tops of Dean’s thighs. 

Dean has always prided himself on having a high pain tolerance. His father did raise him like he was a Marine, after all, and he’s endured countless whippings of a belt on his ass before given by the crazy old man that was John Winchester, distraught ever since his wife died and his youngest son was kidnapped. He had been beaten by belts before as well in scenarios like this- interrogation room fuckings, where a cop or fed would spank his ass with a belt before fucking him. 

But nothing- absolutely  _ nothing _ \- compared to what FBI Agent Sam Wesson was doing on his ass. 

He could actually  _ feel  _ the pain. While John wasn’t stingy with his belt, he never did it with Dean’s ass out and proud; and the others were a bit too chicken to give it their best shot. 

Sam, quite obviously, gave zero fucks.

And Dean, being Dean, couldn’t help but goad Sam. 

“Is that all you got?” he panted. “C’mon, Scully. Hit me with your best shot!” 

Sam snarled softly, unfolding his belt. 

Dean heard the soft leather hit the floor and he swallowed.  _ Oh shit. I have made a mistake. ABORT MISSION ABORT MISSION!! _

In the moments right before Sam’s belt came crashing down on his ass like he’s fucking Indiana Jones with a whip; as Dean heard the leather whistle through the air, he realized that he had made a mistake of epic proportions, and he was going to pay dearly for it. 

Sam’s belt cracked across Dean’s upturned rear as if it were a whip and Dean straight up shouted as he bucked his hips inwards, slamming them into the table hard. 

He could feel tears spring to his eyes, giving another loud sob as Sam’s belt striped across the other way on his tender and sure to be red ass. 

A tear leaked down his face and he sniffled loudly, causing Sam to pause. 

“Crying, little whore?” he asked, walking around to the front of the table to peer at Dean’s face. 

Dean slowly raised his face, the tear shining brightly on his ruddy face.

“Poor slut,” Sam said, wiping the tear away gently. “Are you going to be good for me, now?” 

Dean nodded, sniffling again as he looked into Sam’s eyes. There was an element of kindness behind that sharp gaze, a kindness not many people must see very often, if at all. 

“Good,” Sam said, running his fingers through Dean’s hair slowly, letting him relax into it. “Good. I like obedient pets.” 

Dean groaned softly and sighed. “How do you know all of this stuff, anyways?” he asked softly. 

“My father taught me,” Sam said. “Well, not the dominating people sexually stuff, but the other stuff. How to interrogate, torture, worm information out of people. It’s why I knew I couldn’t torture you or make you do sit ups. You’re too used to that. You’ve never had a real Dom before.” 

“And your mother allowed this?” Dean asked incredulously. 

“Didn’t have a mother,” Sam shrugged. “I was adopted as a baby. Well, the term Father used was ‘acquired’. He was single.”

“What do you mean, ‘acquired’?” Dean asked, watching Sam open his briefcase. 

“I believe it means someone kidnapped me as an infant and someone adopted me in some. . . black market adoption,” Sam said, pulling out a large bottle of lube and a condom. “Been trying to trace my roots, but that’s been difficult.” 

“How old were you?” Dean asked. He couldn’t help it, he was curious.

“Six months to the day is when Father said he got me,” Sam said, starting to unbuckle his slacks. “But. . . I grew up in a fairly decent house. Father fed me, clothed me, gave me an allowance, punished me if I got out of hand. . . your typical life.” 

“Your dad ever spank you with a belt?” Dean asked with a chuckle.

“Father never laid a finger on me, at least in anger,” Sam said. “He’d take away my books.” 

Dean laughed loudly. “Dude, that is  _ bad.  _ That’s how you know you reached nerdom. When the parents take away books.” 

“Very true,” Sam chuckled. “He made sure not take away books I’d need for school or anything like that. In fact, it was because of him and how he raised me that I got into Stanford on a full ride.” 

Dean gave a nod before arching his back up, cracking it. “Stanford, huh? Not a bad school, not a bad school at all, Sammy.” 

“It’s  _ Sam. _ ” Sam huffed, letting his slacks fall to the ground and stepping out of them neatly. The only thing separating Dean from Sam’s promising cock was a pair of black boxers with a red waistband, the brand  _ Saxx  _ emblazoned on them. 

“Saxx, seriously?” Dean snorted. “You overcompensating for something?” 

Sam raised a brow before hooking his fingers into the waistband of his underwear and yanked it down his legs. 

Dean stared. “I stand corrected.” 

Sam gave an incline of his head before reaching for the bottle of lube and the condom.

“Dude, I’m clean,” Dean said. “You don’t need that.” 

“I won’t know that for sure until your med report comes back,” Sam said, staring at the criss cross of angry welts striping Dean’s ass. Smirking to himself, he gave a congratulatory pat on his shoulder before opening the bottle of lube. “So, better safe than sorry is my motto.” 

“Okay,” Dean groaned. He’s missed having a bare cock in his ass.

Sam spread the liquid over his fingers, rubbing them slightly before slipping in two. 

Dean gasped, then moaned, his hips tilting back up into Sam’s hands. 

“Your dad teach you how to be a greedy whore?” Sam smirked. “I bet you made a pretty teenage boy.” 

Dean flushed. Sure, he’s been selling his body since he was sixteen for some extra cash for him and his dad, and he was able to do night or day calls since he dropped out of high school around that time as well, but  _ still _ . “That’s what they told me,” he said. 

“You’re taking my fingers like a professional porn star,” Sam marveled, spreading his fingers within dean’s ass and coating it liberally in lube. He wasn’t going to truly hurt Dean. He may be a little bit of a sadist, but there was a difference between welts and a prolapsed asshole. “I wonder if I could just slide right in.” 

Dean moaned. “Please, Sir,” he whispered. “Fuck my tight little hole.” 

“I’m surprised it’s tight, considering the amount of cock you’ve taken,” Sam said, slapping Dean’s ass and withdrawing his fingers. He stood up straight and put the condom on before lining his cock up with Dean’s hole and pressed in. 

Dean whimpered, clenching his fists and forcing himself to relax. Sam was fucking  _ huge,  _ the biggest Dean’s ever taken. “You. . . you should consider that porn star career yourself,” he panted. “With a dick like this.” 

“I’m flattered,” Sam said in a deadpan voice, rocking his hips. The tip of his head lightly brushed over Dean’s prostate and Dean keened, whimpering loudly. He couldn’t care less what he sounded like right now. Right now, Sam was bottoming out in him, filling him up in a way that only extra large dildos had before. 

Sam gave Dean a moment to adjust, before starting to fuck Dean hard and fast. His fingers curling around Dean’s hips as he rammed himself into the criminal’s abused ass over and over again. 

Dean was screaming, his cock throbbing and most likely purple as Sam fucked him hard into the table. He’s certain that if it wasn’t bolted to the floor, they’d be moving it. His handcuffs and ankle cuffs chafed at his skin and he moaned and whined. 

This was potentially the best sex he’s ever had. 

“That’s it,” Sam whispered in his ear, nibbling on his earlobe, “Scream for me. Scream and moan like the little whore you are. You’re liking this, aren’t you?” 

“Yes, yes, oh God, yes,” Dean babbled, arching up and into Sam as the fed kept pounding into him. He wasn’t going to be able to walk or sit, and he didn’t want anything to change. This was perfect. 

“I can tell no one’s ever fucked you like the slut you are,” Sam continued, hot breath trailing along Dean’s neck, making him shiver. “I can tell by the way your body is begging for more. It doesn’t know when to stop, does it? It’s just going to keep on begging.” 

Dean mewled and writhed underneath Sam, the telltale build up in his groin making itself known to Dean as fire spread through his veins. 

“Do you want to cum?” Sam whispered. “Answer now, and if you say you want to, I’ll let you. But this is your only offer. If you say no, I won’t let you.” 

Dean whined. “Yes, yes, Sir, please, let me cum,” he begged shamelessly. 

“Then cum, you whore,” Sam snarled, biting down hard on Dean’s shoulder. 

Dean screamed himself hoarse as black and white clouded his vision and he spilled uselessly onto the floor below

Sam kept fucking him for a few moments as Dean shuddered his way through the aftershocks before he came, filling the condom up and draping himself even more over Dean’s back, pressing him into the table. 

“Did I do good, Sir?” Dean asked softly after a bit. 

“You did very well, Dean,” Sam murmured, pressing a chaste kiss to his temple. “I’m going to pull out now. I want you to get dressed and sit and relax. I’ll go grab us some food and drinks. How do you take your coffee?” 

“Black,” Dean said, groaning and trying to relax as Sam pulled out of him. 

The FBI agent gave a low whistle and ran a hand over Dean’s tender rear. “I’ll grab some lotion as well, so that heals well,” he said. “Anything in particular to eat?” 

“Burgers and fries would be good,” Dean said, slowly pulling his panties over his rear. At least he wasn’t wearing cotton today. That stuff snagged on welts like glue and it hurts if Dean has to take them off.

Sam nodded. “I’ll be back soon,” he said, pulling up his slacks and tossing the used, tied off condom into the trash before leaving to go run the errands he needed to. 

Dean pulled his jeans up and sat down gingerly, hissing as he did so. Damn. Sam Wesson was heavy handed. 

Dean reached over to Sam’s briefcase, intent on finding out more about the man who just gave him the best spanking and fuck of all time.

His file was in there, and he skipped over that, as he did with copies of Sam’s older cases, before finding a black folder. Snagging that, he opened it and began looking through it. 

It was filled with newspaper clippings, dating all the way back to 1983. Birth announcements. 

_ Sam is trying to figure out where he came from,  _ Dean thought to himself as he began looking through. 

Sam was thorough. He was looking for babies who had been abducted around their six month mark, and where there was a fire that occurred. 

Growing up, Dean knew that he had had a brother. It wasn’t mentioned in his file that his baby brother was abducted. . . on his six month birthday. 

There were only four cases that were open according to Sam’s notes, of child abductions that were complete with homicide that fit Sam’s parameters. Dean read the names. 

_ Max Miller _

_ Andrew Gallagher _

_ Ansem Weems _

_ Sam Winchester.  _

“Winchester,” Dean whispered, running his fingers over Sam’s name before tearing through the folder and finding a newspaper article from the Lawrence, Kansas newspaper, dated November 5th, 1983: 

_ The Winchester family home experienced a double tragedy a few nights ago. John Winchester lost not just his son, but his wife as well.  _

_ A man sneaked into the Winchester family home through the second story window and was apparently found holding Sam Winchester, aged six months on November 2. Mary Winchester heard the baby crying, according to her husband John, and went to investigate.  _

_ What then happened is any man’s worst nightmare, as the kidnapper attacked Mary and slit her stomach open before setting her on fire, using lighter fluid and a match before escaping the same way he came in.  _

_ Today was Mary Winchester’s memorial service, as well as Sam Winchester’s.  _

_ John elected to have a memorial service for the son he’ll never know, as he figured that by now, with no new leads, Sam Winchester was most likely dead.  _

_ Mary and Sam Winchester are survived by John Winchester, husband and father; and Dean Winchester, aged four. _

Dean remembered that night. He remembered how he gave his baby brother a kiss on the forehead and wished him good night before going off to bed. He then woke up to his mother screaming and his brother crying and he started running towards. . . 

_ Sammy!  _

_ “Dean! Run!” John Winchester ordered, just before the fire started seeping into the hallway.  _

_ “Mommy!” Dean cried as he tried to run into the room, not understanding. Mommy was in Sammy’s room, Sammy’s crying! _

_ John picked his oldest son up and grabbed a shotgun before running out and looking frantically for something, or someone.  _

_ Dean looked around, crying, and looked towards the tree over by Sammy’s bedroom. Daddy was teaching him how to climb it. And he saw a man in it, watching the flames and seeing the black and white plaid blanket that he instinctively knew was his baby brother. _

_ And what disturbed him was he could see the strange man who was holding Sam in his arms had yellow eyes.  _

_ He tugged on John’s sleeve and pointed mutely towards the tree.  _

_ John saw and took aim, but the man was already climbing down the tree quickly, keeping Sam safe and close to him.  _

_ “Sammy!” he called out, running towards the man, intent on harming him for trying to steal his baby brother away. It was his duty as a big brother to protect Sammy! _

_ “I’d hold your other son back if I were you, John,” the stranger said.  _

_ “You give me back my son, you son of a bitch,” John snarled, cocking the shotgun.  _

_ “Oh, I don’t think so,” the strange man said, and Dean stopped in his tracks, paralyzed with fear. “You see, Mary promised Sam to me a long time ago, right before I shot her old man in the chest. A deal is a deal.” _

_ “Dean, come here,” John said.  _

_ “I’ll take good care of the boy, John,” the stranger said. “He’s going to make a great fed some day.”  _

Jerking himself out of the flashback, Dean felt tears sting his eyes, as they always did when he thought about the brother he never had. He still, quietly, celebrated Sam’s birthday on May 2 and mourned what John told him was the day Sam died so they could move on. 

He dug into Sam’s briefcase once more and found a picture of Sam with the man he called Father. He saw the back first, saw in perfect script  _ myself and Father, day before Stanford graduation. _

He flipped the picture over and felt his blood run cold. 

The man Sam called ‘Father’ had the same yellow eyes from Dean’s nightmares. 

_ Did I just fuck my own brother? _ He wondered before finding another one, this one of a smaller version of Sam, reaching out towards ‘Father’. The same yellow eyes still creeped Dean out. 

With trembling fingers, he flipped the picture over.

_ Sammy’s first birthday. May 2, 1984.  _

“Oh no,” he whispered. “I just got fucked by my baby brother.” 

Dean laid his head down on the table and weeped. 

_ I was fucked by my baby brother and I enjoyed it. I deserve to go to Hell.  _

_ Dad, I’m so sorry.  _

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell
> 
> Comments and Kudos are Shiny!!


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